


Written in the Stars

by JustADumbWriter



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, my readers can have a little heartache. as a treat
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:47:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22180528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustADumbWriter/pseuds/JustADumbWriter
Summary: If the walls of Commander Data’s private quarters could talk, this would be the story they share.
Relationships: Data/Geordi La Forge
Comments: 75
Kudos: 103





	1. Chapter 1

Delicate paws pad across plush carpet, barely leaving an imprint of the blazing ginger’s explorations. 

Spot stops and sits at the leg of a canvas, propped up in the middle of the sitting room. Of course, to Spot, this is not a canvas, but the leg of a looming, unnatural architecture. Spot, however, does not mind this abomination to the organic world, as it makes for a good surface for her claws. Her wide, golden eyes are staring up to what sits upon the canvas; Data’s latest work. Spot admires how her Companion (she refuses to see him as anything more than her equal, though, she does think of him in this way with a fondness in her mind) can create these replicas of the world they both inhabit. Sometimes, he will produce landscapes that Spot could never have dreamed, other times, he will compose two-dimensional copies of things Spot has encountered during her expedition through her immense, chrome-coloured world. 

This time, her Companion has done something that is oh, so quickly becoming a routine.  
This time, he has replicated the The Masked One. 

Spot has conflicting concepts surrounding The Masked One. On one paw, his eyes are always shielded; This causes Spot’s tails to twitch and back to arch. She tenses at the idea of not being able to see another creature’s eyes- not being able to see their motivations. However, on the other paw, Spot cannot dismiss the way that The Masked One influences her Companion. Spot is one of the universe’s more refined beings (this has been decided and confirmed by the only one whose opinion matters to her- herself) and as such, she has a sense of other creatures emotions. However, her Achilles heel had turned out to be the very being she is around most; Her Companion. Spot believes that irony is the lowest form of comedy, and she looks down on the universe for its repeated use. Her Companion is an outlier to her, an enigma. She does not detect his emotions in the same way she does other. This, of course, is not to suggest he does not have emotions. He is a creature of intelligence, of growth and learning, and Spot knows first-hand that he has the capacity for gentleness (she has long since accepted the slight degradation that came with the greater comfort of his coddling). But he experiences them in a way that is totally unique. The feelings that emanate from him are more difficult to place, and the confusion only adds to the intensity of the sensations. 

And her Companion exhibits his greatest reactions when The Masked One is in his presence. 

Spot’s thoughts return to the image looming above her. She doesn’t present herself as an art critic, but she does have some qualms. Her foremost objection is that this is the fourth time her Companion has used this muse, while he has only done so for her eight, and she feels that she should at least have triple the status of him. Her secondary, however, comes from a strange place in her mind. A place of frustration not at someone, but _for_ them.

... Maybe a bit of both, Spot decides. It is, after all, so easy to succumb to annoyance when surrounded by such divergent actions. 

Her Companion never shows his work to The Masked One. 

It baffles her.  
Even she, in her almost infinite wisdom, cannot comprehend why her Companion would squander so much of his time on a task to then hide the finished product and deny the event even occurred. 

Her thoughts are interrupted at the sound of footsteps entering her auditory radius. 

The footfalls are calculated, in stride and rhythm, and Spot knows who it is before the door even opens. 

Despite herself, Spot lets out a cry of delight. 

“Hello, Spot,” Data greets.


	2. Chapter 2

{Data_Program_73.7}  
> {Run} {Crouch.exc}  
> {Run} {ExtendArm.exc}  
> {Run} {Pet_Spot.o/exc}

Data stoops down to meet Spot as she excitedly trots towards him. 

He delicately runs his fingers across her forehead, to which she responds with a deep purr. He scratches gently behind her ear, and his lips twitch up into a small smile. 

> Identify_Emotional_Cue  
>Researching_Emotional_Evidence  
>Loading...  
>Results:  
> Joy [93.8% Match]

{Data_Program_0.48}  
> {Run} Smile.exc

Data, of course, is conscious of his change in facial expression; They do not happen naturally, and he has to carefully calculate every movement to match the situation. For this moment, he deduces that a human would be happy to see their pet, and so he responds to the situation in a suitable manner. 

>>CAUTION: Internal Heat Systems Rising<<  
>>% Of Danger: 0.007%<<  
>>System Check Scheduled in 07:59:59<<

He does notice the nano-motors in his chest warming up, but pays no mind to the mild malfunction. They do this often around the cat- who has now decided to express her contentment by gently bumping her head against Data’s knee. 

It has never occurred to Data that his circuitry should not be doing this for no apparent reason. 

{Data_Program_29.9}  
> {Run} {Speech.exc}  
> {Content} “Have you been good in my absence?” {/Content}  
> {End} {/Speech.exc}  
{End_Program}

Data questions, rhetorically of course; Another human trait that he has learned. 

Spot wants to inform her Companion that ‘good’ is a term of morality- something which is fluid, and unique to every intelligent organism- however, she cannot communicate her sentiments in a way he would understand, and so she just mewls ambiguously. 

> {End} {/Pet_Spot.o/exc}  
> {End} {/ExtendArm.exc}  
> {End} {/Crouch.exc}  
{End_Program}

Data rises to his feet, and glides to stand in front of his easel, with Spot in toe. She tries to suppress the urge to roll her eyes at the exhausted routine her Companion has had lately. Data’s golden eyes trail across the curves and strokes of the half-painted canvas. His hand delicately traces along the subtle raises of the dried paint. 

{Open_o/File.18.PAM_T.Muses}  
>{Run} {Geordie_LaForge_148.27.mem}

Data’s mind retrieves the memory he selected; The one that contains the image he is trying to recreate. However, he is finding himself unsatisfied with his progress, as he has felt with every picture of Geordie he has painted. Weather in oil, watercolour, pastel or acrylic, Data cannot seem to capture... Something about Geordie that is there on his face in these memories. 

As of on cue, the image of Geordie loads in his Mind’s Eye program, and Data can see Geordie, smiling up at the stars. 

In this particular memory, they are together on one of the ship’s viewing deck. They had taken a break to visit the platform because Geordie had wanted to see the planet (Dionysus X of the Amora Quadrant) the ship was passing in close proximity to. And Data has followed without question. Because it would make Geordie happy, and when Geordie was happy, Data’s processors worked faster, and minute electric currents shot through his sensors. 

The pair had stood, side by side, staring up at the multi-coloured swirls of clouds of different gasses and densities, making their way across the shimmering oceans to the glittering land, to shed their weight in iridescent droplets of sweet-scented rain. But Data’s head had turned when he heard Geordie sigh, and, at the sight of him, stayed locked onto him. Geordie had had a small, but soft and significant smile on his lips. His cheeks were tinted with a soft pink, and his skin lit up in different shades from the light from Dionysus X. Even though Data couldn’t see through his visor, somehow his Logic Processor could conclude his eyes were sparkling. 

And that’s when it had happened for the fourth time.  
The impossible phenomenon.  
Data had felt. 

The memory begins to fade, and without even running his Consideration Expansion, he selects another one. 

>{Run}  
{Geordie_LaForge_265.94.mem}

Geordie taking 3.47 minutes to tell Data a joke that he ultimately didn’t understand because his own laughter at said joke was impeding his ability to form coherent sentences. 

>{Run}  
{Geordie_Laforge_72.45.mem}

Geordie bringing Data biometric lubricant on a night they had to work late together. 

>{Run}  
{Geordie_LaForge_196.28.mem}

The image of Geordie’s smile.  
The image of Geordie’s lips. 

> Identify_Emotional_Cue  
>Researching_Emotional_Evidence  
>Results:  
>Joy [75.43%]  
>Nervousness [86.35%]  
>Frustration [59.32%]  
>Excitement [69.42%]  
>Sadness [95.98%]  
> Love [101.00%]  
>ERROR:  
>Results_Impossible  
>Malfunction_In_System  
>{Run} {System_Cleanse}  
>{Eject} {Cleansing_Lubricant}

>>CAUTION: Internal Heat Systems Rising<<  
>>CAUTION: Pulse Voltage Rising<<  
>>CAUTION: Respiratory Program Accelerating<<  
>>% Of Danger: 17.43%<<

Data’s hand shakes as he reaches up to brush away a golden tear rolling down his cheek. His breath comes out warped and shaky as his internal fans frantically work to cool down his system. 

Spot, sensing her Companion’s distress, weaves between his legs, and gives him a sympathetic purr. 

Data looks down at Spot, and feels his systems beginning to return to normal. 

Spot sits with him, a paw firmly on his foot, as he comes back down. 

Eventually, a smile tugs on Data’s lips. 

{Data_Program_29.9}  
> {Run} {Speech.exc}  
> {Content} “I am alright now, Spot. Thank you.” {/Content}  
> {End} {/Speech.exc}  
{End_Program}

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not beta read this I have no idea what coding even is and no I will not apologise for either of these things ENJOY
> 
> data goes stupid goes crazy when he thinks about Geordie and then he cries cause he’s a gay Icon ok


	3. Chapter 3

Data, having since calmed down, sits on his couch with his violin in hand. 

The painting has been covered and put aside, Data deciding that painting was evoking too many... 

{...}

Data wasn’t sure what to class his reactions as. Of course, logically he could quickly conclude that his emotion-identification algorithm that had been installed in his hardware has been malfunctioning somehow, extending its logical reactions into physical ones. But that would mean that he is feeling emotions... In a way. 

Data doesn’t like to think about this. It makes him too optimistic. Gives him too much...

(Data can’t retrieve a better word from his vocabulary archives, so he has to settle for it.)

Hope. 

He analyses his emotional cue results, and puts bow to strings. A slow, melancholic tune begins to resonate from the violin, as Data channels the information in his positronic brain into his art. The notes ring out against the walls of the small room, swirling through the acoustics and back to Data’s ears again. The tune is melancholic, and steady. As if it was a sad prophecy; A flaw given from birth, and destined to never be fixed.  
As he continues playing, Data begins to skip over notes, gracefully, but unmistakably.  
Something...Missing.  
He closes his eyes, face neutral, and fingers so expertly engineered he doesn’t need to see their positioning, and deepens his bow movements. The melody swells.  
More desperate, more tragic.  
The feeling of a loss of something never had. The wish to defy possibility. The knowledge that he is unable to do so.  
He is not programmed that way. 

Data freezes, eyes opening at the quiet buzz at his door, his alert (set to silent) signalling somebody on the other side.  
Data is silent, but his programme tugs at the corner of his mouth without his conscious activation of the programme. 

He knows who stands on the other side of that door.  
At this time of night? (2347)  
It could only be him. 

Data does not stand; He knows he does not need to. They have done this 17 times prior.  
It is a routine now. 

He’s waiting for Data to finish. 

Data resumes, playing again with more vigour, knowing he is listening on the other side of the door. 

The man who truly sees him as an equal; A friend.  
The man who has a bright smile and unending patience for him.  
The one who makes Data believe he could defy the possible.  
Feel the impossible. 

The last notes ring out, rising from the minor to the major.  
The sun in his grin.  
The shine in his face.  
The things he makes Data feel. 

On a last flourishing bow-stroke, Data ends his tune on a bright chord, which he lets resonate and hang in the air. 

Something that lasts; Something that soaks into his very core. 

Hope. 

The last of the vibrations fade, and, as practiced before, the doors swing open. 

That bright smile comes into Data’s vision, as his guest saunters into his quarters with an easy walk. 

Data feels the nano-motors in his face working overtime, and his voice programme alters his tone to make his smile shine through in his words. 

Data rests his violin to the side. 

“Good evening, Geordie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally typed this all out, copied, pasted and posted  
> Didn’t even read it  
> God I am just going apeshit with my writing standards somebody stop me
> 
> (And thanks for reading this far love u)
> 
> ~Also in this scene spot is curled up next to Data purring along to the vibrations of his song~


	4. Chapter 4

“I don’t know about you, but I need a drink,” Geordie says brightly, even though Data can see the minute details of fatigue setting in on his face and posture. 

“I am never in ‘need’ of a drink, Geordie, as I do not need—“

“Data,” Geordie holds up a hand, and Data snaps his mouth shut at the way Geordie laughs a tired yet endeared laugh, “You gotta know what I mean.”

Data feels some of his internal lubricant run closer to the surface of his face, tingeing it gold. He nods, mouth mirroring Geordie’s and spreading into a small smile, and heads to the replicator. Geordie drops onto the couch, and carefully puts Data’s violin away for him, knowing from habit that he was done performing for the evening. Data replicates two hot chocolates with a generous helping of creme-liqueur in each, and gravitates back to Geordie, sitting beside him.  
Maybe slightly closer than necessary.  
Slightly closer than recommended for this social situation.  
Geordie doesn’t complain, he simply wraps his hands around the mug when Data passes it to him, and inhales it in, sinking back into the couch.  
He takes a sip. 

“Oh, Data, you’ve always got what I need.”  
“I merely replicated what I calculated to be the most probably drink you were craving at the current moment.”  
“Just take the compliment, D.”  
“... Thank you, Geordie.”

Geordie’s legs are sprawled out, and his thigh is lightly pressed against Data’s.  
Data is not sure what to make of the tiny electrical impulses running through the point of contact.  
He wonders if Geordie can feel them too.  
But he does not dwell for long, as Geordie begins to speak, and his full attention is channelled on the Engineer. 

“You would not believe the shift I had today.”  
“Geordie, I am an—“  
“Android, I am incapable of doubt, yeah, yeah, yeah.”  
“...”  
“... You’re getting good at teasing, D.”  
“Thank you, Geordie. I was momentarily concerned you mistook my satire for sincerity.”  
“Nah, I can read you like a book. Anyhow, this shift- Absolute nightmare!”

As Geordie rants about too much work for too little a staff, and crazed alien pirates determined to attack them, Data’s mind begins to wander. The sound of Geordie’s soft yet animated voice, with a sparkle in its tone, is enough to put the Android in a near-hypnotic state. His gold eyes slowly drift down Geordie’s face, cataloguing every detail, and settling focus on the his lips. 

Data feels drawn to Geordie.  
A force that even he can’t explain destines him for the man sitting so closely beside him, at ease and comfortable.  
It is something stronger than any being or force Data has encountered yet. 

Like gravity;  
The blast of a supernova;  
The pull of a black hole;  
Data and Geordie are meant to be in each other’s orbit. 

Data snaps out of his daze as Geordie waves a hand in front of his eyes. 

“Woah, D, system error much?” Geordie jokes, giving Data a gentle push on the shoulder, to which Data doesn’t move. 

“Geordie, I—“ Data pauses, perplexed, “I apologise, I seem to have... Lost my focus.”

Geordie shrugs, ever-present smile softening. 

“S’okay, it’s not a big deal. It wasn’t that interesting anyhow.”

A silence settles between them as they both sip their drinks. 

“Geordie..?”  
“Yeah?”  
“... I believe Spot is about to—“

Data is cut off as Geordie lets out a yell at the feline jumping onto his lap, prompting him to spill his drink down himself. He shoots up, Spot scrabbling away as he does, and fans his hands. 

“Shit, that’s hot!”

Data quickly stands, stepping closer to Geordie to assess the immediate damage. 

“That damn cat!” Geordie hisses through clenched teeth. 

“I apologise on behalf of Spot’s behaviour,” Data gently takes Geordie’s mug from him and places it down on the table, “I calculate the temperature of the drink to have been 86.2 degrees Celsius. At that level of heat, it is possible you have acquired third degree burns. I am fully programmed in intermediate first-aid, so I can assist checking you. You will need to remove your shirt, however.”

Geordie flusters, a blush rising in his face, but quickly collects himself and nods. 

“Alright, but just remember I’ve been on double shifts so I haven’t visited the gym in a little while,” He chuckles, trying to alleviate some of the tension seeping into the room. 

Data doesn’t reply, just stares at him owlishly, pupils fluctuating slightly as he scans Geordie’s bare chest, while the Engineer avoids catching his eye. 

Data’s memory programme is in overdrive, rapidly replaying the scene that had just played out, searching for any visual confirmation of injury. 

>  
{Subject [GEORDIE] spilled liquid [HOT CHOCOLATE, IRISH CREAM, 82.6°C] onto torso area.  
Clothing worn: [CALCULATING] Starfleet standard issue uniform [BIOPOLYESTER, DIMODIUM MYLAR, YELLOW].  
Variables: Clothing worn is insulated for extreme weather [RISK OF SERIOUS INJURY: LOWERED TO 53.6%]. 

As he runs his internalised flashback, Geordie finishes removing his shirt, and Data’s programs all grind to a halt. 

[ERROR_404: DATA NOT FOUND]  
[LOADING...]

His pause only lasts a moment, and Geordie is too wrapped up in his own issues that he doesn’t even notice. Data’s systems quickly reboot, and a file is added to his Notes App that reads ‘Perform full diagnostic scan at later date’, but at the current moment, Data is more focused on his revised Prime Directive. It flashes in front of his eyes as another part of his brain continues replaying what happened:

[PERFORM PHYSICAL ASSESSMENT OF GEORDIE]

Slowly, and gently, Data lightly presses his fingers to the slightly damper, slightly warmer patch on Geordie’s torso. In a millisecond, he records a magnitude of Data, while his memory reaches the point of Geordie’s exclamation. 

{Open_o/File.25.7_PAM_}  
>{Record} Skin, soft.  
>{Record} Muscle Mass: [CALCULATING] [34.7%]. Muscles 45.7% tense [CONCLUSION: NERVOUS]. 

>{Record} Faint detection of pulse. Elevated. 

>{/Record}  
>{Save_All}

_“Shit, that’s hot.”_

After a minuscule pause, Geordie reflectively flinches away from the contact. Data’s eyes snap up. 

“Sorry.”  
“Does it hurt?”  
“...”  
“Geordie.”  
“A little. Not anything serious. Don’t worry.”  
“I—“  
“I know.”  
“...”  
“...”  
“I do not see any signs of injuries more serious than some first degree burns. These should nevertheless be treated. Excuse me.”

Data is gone like smoke in a breeze, and Geordie is suddenly surrounded by empty space as Data replicates a compress. Geordie tries to ignore how his heart surges at Data’s absence. He returns with the compress alongside a paper towel to dry the excess dampness on Geordie’s skin. Geordie tries to distract himself from the near-humanness of how gently the Android touches him through the towel. 

The silence is thick between them.  
And, of course, Data decides to break it with the worst thing he could say. 

“You know, Geordie,” He begins, voice cheerful, but also... Softer, due to their proximity, “You should not feel self-conscious about your physical appearance.”

Geordie swears he can feel steam coming out of his ears as his face flushes a deep red, and the Android calmly presses the compress to his torso. Geordie can feel eyes on him, so he turns back to Data and gazes at him in his glowing glory, ever-present halo shimmering. 

“What’re you talking about?”  
“You told me earlier to “remember that you have been on double shifts so you haven’t visited the gym in a little while”, which, according to my research into casual communique, indicates you feel your body does not fit into the category of aesthetically pleasing. But my databases tell me that- while beauty is an ever-different, ever-evolving concept that is not truly achievable to every single beings eyes, not to mention the personal biases I have had to put aside- you are... Good looking.”  
“...”

Geordie is stunned, frozen like a space-deer in space-headlights. Did Data just call him... Handsome? (Well, in his own Data way)? He doesn’t have time to process everything Data said, but his fingers brush the Android’s as he puts a hand over the compress. A very bashful, but sincere smile spreads slowly across his face. 

“I was only joking, you know.”  
“I had calculated that to be a 98.3% possible conclusion, however, given the evidence from previous interactions, our r— friendship is also at a social stage where we divulge insecurities to one another. Given there was a 1.7% chance you were seriously concerned about your physical appearance, I decided it would be worthwhile to let you know that there is nothing for you to worry about.”  
“...”  
“...”  
“... Thanks, D.”  
“You are welcome... G.”  
“G?!”  
“I was inspired by your use of my first initial as a ‘nickname’ and thought it might work if I reciprocated your idea. Does it not work?”

Geordie has one hand on the compress, and one over his mouth, trying to hide his laughter. 

“No, no, it does! You just... Caught me off-guard. It works. Promise.”  
“... Thank you, Geordie. I will get you something to wear.”

Data disappears again to retrieve one of his jackets, and comes back with something that sits slightly larger on Geordie than it does him, but at least is one of the few civilian items he owns. Geordie tugs the jacket on and buttons it up, as Data subtly creates yet another memory file, as if through instinct. 

> Geordie looks good in gold fauxbiosynth-leather with black detailing. 

...

> I do not know why I find this significant. Look into this later. 

“Well, hey, uh... Thanks for the drink,” Geordie flashes Data his familiar, bright grin, “Even if I did end up wearing most of it.”  
“I must apologise again for Spot’s poor behaviour.”  
“Ah, she just likes causing me trouble, don’t worry about it.”

There is a moment between them, a pause as if they were in the holodeck recreating yet another Sherlock Holmes mystery and one of them had missed their line. Data’s head ticks. Geordie’s fingers twitch. And then, as they often do, the moment passes. Geordie claps his hand on Data’s shoulder- Data himself is still slightly confused at what just happened between them. Or what didn’t? He flashes Geordie a smile nevertheless. 

“I suppose I should catch up on some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”  
“Given that is now 0003 hours, you will technically see me today.”  
“Never change, D. Goodnight!”  
“Goodnight, Geordie. Rest well.”  
...  
“Geordie..?”  
“Yeah?”  
“... Gold suits you.”

Data sees Geordie’s face tinge pink just as the door closes. He then turns to fix Spot with a reproachful look. 

Spot just loafs on the couch, face smug and purrs deepening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t not beta read because I don’t care  
> I don’t beta read because I’m always finishing chapters at ASS OCLOCK IN THE MORNING
> 
> sleeping patterns am I right folks???
> 
> love u for reading this gooodnight x


	5. Chapter 5

{Data_Program_53.7}  
> {Run} {Sleep.exc}  
[ERROR: ATTEMPT 7.3 UNSUCCESSFUL]  
[ERROR: POSOFUNCTIONS TOO HIGH TO COMMENCE SLEEP PROGRAM]  
[VENTING EXCESS HEAT]

Data sighs out in 145.9°C of frustration. His eyes crack open, gaze unfocused under heavy lids. His mind is in overdrive.   
Again.   
He can’t help the way Geordie keeps swimming to the front of his mind, with a twinkling grin and open arms.  
He can’t help the way his mind replays, over and over, the moment their fingers brushed together as Geordie took the compress from him, and how the electrical response ran all the way through him.   
He can’t help the way Geordie... Makes him feel. 

⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒

Geordie groans into his pillow. He kicks the covers off him, and buries his face deeper into the soft darkness. His jaw clenches and his shoulders are tense. He counts down from 10.   
He reaches zero.   
He does it again.   
And again,  
And again,  
And—

“God damn it.” Geordie grumbles, rolling over and flopping onto his back. 

Geordie was hoping that he would be able to sleep tonight, as he had been up thinking about Data for three nights consecutively prior, and usually on the fourth night, exhaustion takes over. But not tonight. Not after another notable moment in the life of Geordie La Forge, Starfleet Engineer, Experienced Lieutenant, and Hopeless Romantic. 

He can’t stop thinking about Data’s hands. 

⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒

Data has only recently come to begrudge the void beside him in his bed. He hates the way his hand spreads out onto a silk desert and finds no contact. He hates the slight chill that outlines his body. He hates the way he feels like a part of himself is so far away it’s almost missing. 

Spot senses her Companion’s distress, and hops onto the bed to curl up beside him. Data turns to gaze at Spot, bringing a hand up to gently run his fingers through her fur. She alters the frequency of her purring to one that seems to calm her Companion. 

Data sighs appreciatively, but his gaze is still distant, his expression still somber. His mind literally whirs. 

{SUBJECT: GEORDIE LAFORGE}  
>Soft hands  
>Body Temperature : 37°C

{CORTEX.EVD}  
>Geordie_Smiling472.jpeg  
>Quarters_IntDim.jpeg

{RUN: IMG.ALT.exc}  
>[Geordie] stands in [Data’s] quarters   
>The lights are dim  
>[NOTE: Geordie’s skin would reflect purple and pink in an aesthetically pleasing way]  
>[Geordie]’s hand is on [Data]’s arm  
>[NOTE: Geordie’s hands are soft and warm. It would feel pleasant on my sensory receptors]  
>[Geordie] moves his arms to wrap around [Data]’s waist  
>[Data] puts his arms around [Geordie]’s shoulders  
>[Geordie] leans towards [Data]  
>[NOTE: The idea of Geordie’s breath against my lips evokes what could possibly be... Apprehension. Look into this later]  
>[Geordie] kisses [Data]

⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒

Geordie’s mind stumbles back to where it always ends up at this time of hour.   
Data. And he’s too tired to stop himself, so he just lets his mind indulge itself in visions of the Android. 

He pictures a pair of yellow, owlish eyes peering down at him, full of curiosity and trust. Gold lips, shimmering as they quirk up at the corners. Impossibly strong arms wrap around Geordie’s waist, and pull him closer in a gentle mention.  
Geordie goes happily. 

Their lips always fit together so perfectly when he pictures their first kiss. Of course they would, as it is Geordie’s imagination, and nothing more. But right now Geordie’s not focusing on the negatives. He’s focusing on the idea of Data kissing him, holding him, pull him deeper and deeper into the moment. 

Geordie’s always wondered what Data sounds like when he moans. 

He wishes he knew.   
He wishes he could make his daydreams a reality.   
He wishes he could make Data feel, even if it was just...

Physically. 

⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒

Data shuts down his sexuality program before it whirs to life.   
But he keeps his imagination algorithm running. 

He revels in the surges of electricity that runs through his stomach and further down at the thought of Geordie’s hands on him, but not for engineering or platonic purposes. The thought of their tongues sliding over one another, and the hot air between their open mouths makes Data feel like his wires are tangled. 

Oh, if Geordie knew about his wires, Data almost groans at the thought. 

But he refocuses on his hypothetical scenario.   
Of Geordie’s skilled hands unzipping their uniforms,  
Of Geordie’s bare skin against Data’s,  
Of Geordie’s touch travelling lower,  
And lower,  
And lower

...

Data makes a mental note to check the hitch in his artificial respirator. 

⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒

Geordie chews gently on his lip as his hand wanders down his stomach, and his mind wanders to him and Data falling together into soft sheets with loud noises. 

He tries not to feel too bad about doing this over his best friend.   
It’s not like he chose to fall in love with him. 

Geordie just sighs out softly as his fingers slip under his waistband. 

It’s not that big a deal.   
After all, Geordie reasons, he’s only human.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the reason data’s code dialogue keeps changing is because he keeps getting his aOS updated every 5 minutes


	6. Chapter 6

“... Data?”

Deanna’s soft voice is muffled by the still-closed door to Data’s quarters. Of course, his finely-tuned ears can hear her- as they did the first two times she spoke since she knocked on his door- but he still doesn’t respond. He stands, back to the door, and golden eyes gazing blankly into the darkness of the unlit room. 

Why bother putting the lights on?  
Why bother opening the door?  
Why bother with anything?  
None of that matters right now.  
It may not matter ever again. 

Spot, pupils wide and fuzzy brow furrowed at her Companion’s frankly alarming display of social divergence, takes it upon herself to greet their guest. She understands that the being at the door will help with Data’s anxieties. She also knows that her Companion holds the same knowledge, which is why she is so perplexed at his inaction. Tail raised high, Spot presses her paw to the faulty sensor spot, and Deanna’s hand catches the door. She pushes it open the rest of the way and slips into the room. 

Due to both their species’ psycho-emotional abilities, Spot is able to communicate her concepts to Deanna. 

‘Salutations, Special One! It is regretful our paths cross again due to such a vexing occasion, however it is an amusement to be in your presence once more.’  
‘Hey Spot. I just need to talk to Data then I’ll get you a treat.’  
‘Hurrah! What merriment! I shall retire to the Food Temple and await your arrival.’

Spot brushes herself against her Companion’s leg before trotting into the kitchen, and Deanna commands the lights to raise to 75%. She turns a soft gaze with tired eyes onto Data, who is still frozen in his trance— Spiral. With a gentle sigh, she reaches out a hand to gently squeeze his tensed shoulder. 

“Data... Are you okay?”  
“I am an Android, I do not—“

Data cannot even bring himself to finish. The sentiment is empty, now. And both of them know it. He finally turns to Deanna, and when his eyes meet hers, they are floating on a golden dam that is steadily bursting. 

He’s crying. 

“... No. I do class my current state as ‘okay’.”

Deanna sighs out a soft “oh, Data”, and gently pulls him into a hug. He goes willingly, and in her arms, she feels a static tingling just under her skin. It’s weak- definitely weaker than earlier today, the first time she felt something from Data, ever- but it is still there.  
Still noticeable.  
Still... Painful. 

‘What in the ever-expanding cosmos have I been absent for?!’ Spot wonders, golden eyes blinking from the dimness of the other room.  
‘It’s—‘

“I am worried about Geordie.”

‘I see. The Masked One is in peril.’  
‘... Yes.’

Deanna turns her attention back to Data, and draws him back slightly to get a look at him. 

“Data, you must be exhausted. How about we sit down and I replicate something with chocolate in it?”  
“Though I am exhibiting unprecedented abilities, emotionally speaking, I still do not require sleep or food.”

Deanna responds with a small, fond laugh, and despite himself, Data feels his lips twitch. 

“I know, I know, but trust me on this. If you’re experiencing feelings, you could also be prone to emotional fatigue, and this method is tried and tested to help.”  
“... Very well.”

Data sits on the couch and Deanna soon joins him with two large mugs of hot chocolate embellished with an assortment of toppings, which she sets on the table beside them. She notices his ever-perfect posture is just slightly off tonight, his eyes are a fraction less alert.  
It’s clear to her; He’s falling apart. 

“You know,” She says, taking a sip of her drink, “It sometimes helps to talk about it. And, not to brag, but I am a qualified councillor.”  
“... I am aware of this fact. I have been going to you for sessions for several years now.”  
“I was making a joke, Data.”  
“Ah...”  
“So... Do you want to talk about what happened today?”

Data can feel his finger joints involuntarily clicking. He’s shaking, in his own android way. 

“My memory programme cannot stop replaying the 7.45 seconds in which Geordie was taken from me,” He begins, “Logically, I should not be experiencing shock at this outcome, as there was a 78% chance that it would happen, given the area we were in at the time. However, logically, I should not be able to experience shock at all. I am running all the calculation programmes I have, while compiling all of the data about Geordie I have, and I am coming up with an approximately 86.93% success rate if he were to attempt to escape- which, by my calculations, there is a... 99.99% chance- however, my mind is unable to focus on that, as it is too concerned with the 13.07% chance that he does not succeed. And my imagination programme keeps producing the most likely events of a worst-case scenario. And I feel as though the gravity on the ship has quadrupled. And the circuitry in my chest cavity and spinal chord are over-heating. And my internal speakers are filled with static. And my breathing programme is buffering. And—“

“Data.”

Deanna’s voice is firm, but there is no harshness in it. Data’s mouth clamps shut, and he sits up slightly straighter as he realises he was speaking at a speed of 230 words per minute. 

“I apologise...”  
“There’s nothing to apologise for. I’m glad you’re getting it all out. You seem to be experiencing symptoms of anxiety, which would be obvious if I were talking to anyone but you.”

Data flashes her a small smile, but even for him it looks forced. She’s never seen someone with an inorganic face look so tired and aged. She reaches out to wrap her hands around his. 

“You’re currently imagining all the worst-case scenarios as a way to mentally and emotionally prepare yourself in case they happen, but you of all people should know that Geordie can deal with far worse than a couple of Romulan pirates. He is strong, and resilient. You know this.”

Deanna studies him with a thoughtful look, turning his feelings over in her mind. Before, on the bridge, she could only feel the cold, sharp crackling of anxiety and fear; She had been so focused on the sudden flood of otherworldly feelings that she hadn’t registered what was humming below the surface; Something that, now that she sits with Data’s hands in hers, she can’t believe she ever missed.  
Something tender, yet unbreakable.  
Warm, and inviting, but pushed way down under layers of doubt and metal sheeting. 

“I suppose that I shouldn’t be surprised, though,” She flashes him a sympathetic smile. 

Data’s head ticks to the side. 

“What do you mean, Counsellor?”  
“Well, if anyone were to make you feel something, it would be Geordie.”

Data is silent for a long moment, before he decides that he’s bared enough of his emotions to Deanna today that one more confession may as well come out. 

“I believe that Geordie has been making me feel things for... Quite some time.”

Deanna is quiet for a moment, and her response comes as an arm around Data’s shoulder. 

“Geordie will be okay, Data. I promise. We are going to get him back. And Picard and Riker are devising a plan right now. He has survived many other perils, and he can survive this one.”  
“Thank you, councillor.”  
“... Data. Do you know what you are feeling right now?”  
“...”  
“...”  
“... I believe it is a mix of dread, anger, and... Hope. I have hope, councillor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stuck on making up something bad that happened to a character?  
> Just don’t!!
> 
> Hope you’re all okay n staying safe love u guys xxx


	7. Chapter 7

“... I should have told him when I had the chance.” 

Spot rolls her eyes, settling further down into Data’s lap as his fingers massage the nape of her neck. 

‘I believe the correct sentiment in your tongue is ‘no shit, Sherlock’.’’

Data heaves out a ragged sigh, stroking his hand across Spot’s side. As soon as Deanna left {3.74 hours ago}, Spot had settled herself on top of him and refused to move. Data was grateful for her presence. He believes that she reduced his ensuing panic attack by 27.4%. It wasn’t much, but it had meant that he had a breath of air between the waves. 

He scratches behind her ears, and she purrs deeply, leaning into his touch. 

“I just... I wanted to be sure.”

Data lets out a bitter laugh. Spot’s ear twitches and she looks back towards her Companion. She has never heard him make such a noise. And she doesn’t like it. 

“‘I wanted to be sure.’ I am an android. I was built to be calculating, logical, always sure. And I was not...”  
‘Oh, but you were. We both know you were. It was not uncertainty that held you back. It was—‘  
“I was... Scared.”  
‘Rude to cut me off, but you got there.’  
“I was afraid to tell Geordie that I— how I feel.”  
‘Not quite ready to face that old chestnut, I see.’

Data can feel his eyes prickling with tears. 

“I am such a fool.”

Spot decides this is the cue for her to put her paw down. She stands, stretches, and turns in Data’s lap to stare at him. She puts her front paws on his chest, and fixes her blazing amber gaze onto him. 

‘To err is to human, is it not? Though you feel pain, is it not a miracle to feel at all? Is the hurt greater than the feelings you discovered towards The Masked One? We both know that is not possible. Nothing is as strong as your love for him. It is unfortunate, what has happened, and what has gone unresolved... But to punish oneself for their actions or lack thereof of the past is a pointless task. You are no fool, Data. You are simply imperfect. And that is a very human thing to be.’

Data’s face is still for a moment, before he runs his hands down Spot’s sides before ruffling her head. 

“Oh, Spot, would life not be easier if we could understand one another?”

Spot sighs. 

‘You have no idea.’

Data carefully lifts Spot off his lap, and stands. 

“I am going to take a walk. Be good, and remember, down is good,”  
‘— And up is ‘no’. I understand your condescending rules.’

Data walks to the door.   
It slides open.   
Data freezes. 

“Damn, D, I didn’t even knock.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first draft final draft am i right boys


	8. Chapter 8

{ERROR: SYSTEM OVERLOAD}  
{SYSTEM SHUTDOWN IMMINENT}  
{Reset in >3  
>2  
>1}  
{ALL SYSTEMS POWER ON}  
{PROCESSING INFORMATION}  
{...}  
{Data_Program_29.9}  
>

“Hello Geordie.”

His voice breaks on the second syllable.   
Geordie steps into the room, and the door swishes shut behind him. 

“You okay, Data?”  
“...Should I not be asking you that?”

Geordie laughs.   
It’s tired, and rough, and it sounds like it hurts him, but it’s warm and it’s alive.   
Geordie’s alive.   
Data scans his gaze over Geordie at lightening speed. He takes in every detail.   
Geordie’s stance is off, left leaning instead of the usual right. His hand rests wrapped over his right side, instinctually.   
Nursing an injury, Data concludes.   
His left arm twitches as it hangs by his side. There are heavy trails of dark, dried blood that taper down his fingertips.   
There is a stitched gash on his right cheek.   
His face is pale, with dark shadows clinging to the contours.   
But he’s smiling.   
And he’s looking at Data.   
And he’s here. 

“You are hurt.”

Data reaches out shaking fingers that tentatively wrap around Geordie’s wrist. Geordie lets Data pull his left arm closer, and doesn’t protest at the gentle but sure grip he has on him. Data gently pushes Geordie’s tattered sleeve up to reveal a deep slash, stitched together haphazardly, but clean, and uninflected. 

Data feels as if his internal wiring has knotted together. 

“If you think that’s bad, you should see the other guy.” Geordie jokes, that familiar, warm grin still present on his face. 

“I have precisely 2,479 questions, but my most pressing is this; Are you alright?”

Geordie’s expression softens from the previous horror at the number of queries Data has, and he sighs out a breath of endearment for the concern written on Data’s face. 

“Yeah, D. I’m okay. I mean it’s been a wild few days, and I’m definitely gonna have some cool battle scars from it, but I’m back in almost one piece.”  
“When did you return?”  
“Like, twenty minutes ago. It was a bit of a blur. I figured out how to make my own personal warp device, and lucky for me it dropped me right in the middle of the medbay. And as soon as I got back I was being cleaned, stitched and fixed back up by what felt like a whole medical team, but was actually just Beverly working harder than God. Then, as soon as I was back on my feet, I came here. I actually ran. Hurt a little but...”  
“While I am glad to know you are okay, you should not be exerting yourself under these conditions.”  
“What can I say, I’m a hopeless romantic.”  
“A—“  
“Wait—“

Geordie freezes.   
Data’s eyes widen a fraction.   
Positronic fingers tighten just slightly around Geordie’s wrist as his pulse skyrockets. 

As the two young and foolish beings stand, frozen in their moment of clarity, terror, and apprehension, Spot decides it would be best for all parties involved if she were to make herself scarce, and so she trots over to the part of the sensor pad that is just broken enough to crack the door open as her escape. 

Meanwhile, as Geordie prays to every deity he’s ever studied to make it all a dream, PLEASE MAKE THIS ALL A DREAM, Data’s positrons and electrons frantically whizz past one another, running every analytical program he has. 

It takes seconds for him to speak. 

“You have... Romantic feelings... For me?”  
‘Fuck, fuck, FUCK!’  
“... Yeah.”  
“Ah.”   
“...”  
“I reciprocate.”  
“Wait, WHAT?!”

Geordie had been building up the nerve to leave and never come back, hell, even go back to his captors, but now— Holy shit, now Geordie is begging every deity he’s ever studied to please, PLEASE, LET THIS BE REAL.   
And Data- beautiful, incredible, ethereal Data- is standing a foot away from him, surrounded by an unearthly glow, saying that he... Has feelings? And for Geordie?!

“I have been aware of automatic physical and mental responses I have to different stimuli or events. These have been a part of my existence since I can remember. When Dr Soong revealed to me that I am not less perfect than Lore, I began to entertain the hypothesis that I may be capable of feeling emotion. I built a thesis, and collected evidence from my memory banks. But what finally made me reach this conclusion is you, Geordie. You have been the catalyst to my discovery and feeling of emotions. I feel joy in your friendship, comfort in your presence, fear for your safety, gratitude for your patience, anger at that which hurts you, excitement at your laughter, and hope at your smile.   
“I have been exhibiting electric responses to your touch, frequent thoughts of you when you are absent, heightened reactions to my imagination programme when you are the subject... And then... Geordie, when you were taken from me— I have never felt devastation so clearly. But then, you returned! And I felt relief and joy and finally I realised what I had been feeling for so long! And... Now you are here. Alive, and right in front of me. And the way I feel about that is so intensely elated.   
“I had always felt... Broken, in regards to my lack of emotion. And, as always, I have come to you, and you have fixed me. Geordie, you are my answer. My Engineer. My best friend. Evidently, you are everything to me.”  
“...”  
“...”  
“Data?”  
“Yes, Geordie?”  
“Kiss me.”  
“Gladly.”

All of a sudden, everything is different.   
They finally give into the pull of gravity, colliding in the middle with lips, tongues and hands. Data’s hands settle on Geordie’s face and pull him in deeper, Geordie going gladly as he grabs onto the curve of Data’s hips. They fit together, move together, in the way only beings made for one another do. They devour the moment together, the taste of each other’s lips and tongues merging into the feeling of electric skin. They press closer together, pulses syncing until it feels like there is only one heartbeat, one rhythm guiding them into this new kind of dance together. 

Geordie’s clings to Data as if he were a planet and the android was his core. He begs for more in a language of harsh breaths and soft lips. And Data... Data is so awestruck in this moment, he doesn’t even have time to process the multiple unnamed sensations that are rapidly piling up to be organised and stored into File: Geordie >Romantic. 

Like a blazing supernova, it is beautiful, and then too much. 

Geordie moves in a way that makes the wound in his side catch. Data’s processors run hot with emotion. 

The kiss ends in a sharp inhale, and a gentle sob. 

“Geordie, are you hurt?”  
“Data, are you crying?”

The two stand, still wrapped in each other’s arms. Geordie can feel his side throbbing. Data can feel his eyes overflowing. Geordie lets out a quiet, incredulous laugh that rings with pure affection. He lifts his hand to wipe away a golden tear. 

“You never cease to amaze me.”

Data smiles weakly, but Geordie swears it’s the brightest smile he’s ever seen from him. 

“I am just... So happy you are back.”  
“You and me both.”  
“Have you reopened your stitching?”  
“Nah, I just twisted the wrong way I think. But it might be a sign I need to take it easy.”  
“I agree with your hypothesis. I could take a look at it, if you desire.”  
“You’re just trying to get me out of my shirt again.”  
“Geordie! I would never—“  
“I’m just teasing you, D. Help me over to the couch?”  
“Of course.”  
“...”  
“... Geordie, are you having trouble movin— Mmh—“  
“...”  
“...”  
“... Regrettably, I do not believe I can both continue to kiss you, and asses your health at the same time.”  
“Alright, I’m sure I’m fine anyway—“  
“Geordie!”  
“Okay, okay!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we finally got there boyos   
> 5 months  
> 8 chapters   
> and they finally kissed
> 
> I hope it was worth the wait


	9. Chapter 9

“I have noticed that the stitching on your arm does not match that of your face and side.”

Data is kneeling between a shirtless Geordie’s legs, mechanical fingers filled with tenderness as they trace around the gash on his arm.   
Geordie feels as if his every nerve is jumping with electricity as he tries to fight the blush threatening to reveal itself on his face. This isn’t the first time Data’s looked over him in such close quarters, but this time is completely different.   
Data’s owlish eyes peer up at Geordie, filled with unmistakable concern that makes his breath catch in his throat and takes him a moment longer to reply. 

“Yeah... Not too bad for a blind guy, huh?”

Data’s eyebrows crease together in a mix of 90% worry and 10% disapproval, and Geordie is hit with a sudden flood of euphoria when he realises he doesn’t have to hide the soft smile that plays on his lips at the sight. 

“You did this yourself?”  
“Yeah, I got it during the fight, and had to patch it quickly. Like, really quickly.”  
“... You have gone through a series of traumatic events; Both mentally and physically.”  
“Just another shift, huh?”  
“...”  
“It was a joke, D.”  
“...”  
“... D?”

Data’s gaze has returned to Geordie’s arm, and Geordie can see from the tick of his head that he’s deep in thought. His thumb gently brushes over the unharmed skin around the wound, and when he speaks, Geordie can almost feel the heaviness in his voice. 

“When you were taken, I felt so many intense, painful emotions. Fear, anger, devastation. When you came back, these emotions were replaced with much more pleasurable feelings, but... I find that one painful feeling remains. I believe what I am feeling is... Guilt. I feel guilty that I could not protect you, that I was not quick enough to prevent your capture, that you were subjected to stress and pain, that—“

While Data begins to fall into a monologue of self-flagellation, Geordie takes his face in his hands, and leans forward to silence him with a soft kiss. Data’s hands come up to rest on Geordie’s wrists, he squeezes his eyes shut, and his brow knits together as he leans heavily into the kiss; As if the weight of his guilt has rolled off of him to be replaced by exhaustion and gratitude. When the kiss ends, Geordie rests his forehead against Data’s, breath shaking with the effort to keep it steady. 

“Sorry, I know it’s rude to interrupt, but I just can’t let you think that,” Geordie’s thumbs brush across Data’s cheekbones, “Sweetheart, you cant beat yourself up about this. We’re Starfleet; Danger, injury, and risk are all part of the job description. Plus, I’m no damsel in distress, you know I can handle myself. I know it’s hard, but none of what happened was your fault, I promise. I hope you can see that.”

Geordie pulls back, and sees that Data is sporting an unprecedented golden tinge across his face, wide eyes fixed on him. 

“You... Called me ‘sweetheart’.”  
“Oh. Uh... Sorry.”  
“No apology is necessary, Geordie. I find that I... Am pleased with such a term.”

Data and Geordie hold each other’s gaze for a moment, soft smiles on both of their faces. 

Data leans back, and, running his eyes over Geordie once more (for purely objective reasons, he lies to himself), decides everything is still set in the right places. 

“I believe you have not sustained any further injuries.”  
“Well, that’s good to know.”  
“You must be tired. If you desire, I can walk you back to your quarters.”  
“Such a gentleman.”  
“I was installed with a chivalry programme that I make sure to update regularly.”  
“Well, I’d be happy for you to walk me home... In, maybe, ten minutes?”  
“Is there a reason for the delay?”  
“Well... I kinda wanted to do a little more of this before I go.”  
“A little more of— Oh~.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is it clear that they’re not shagging and just making out for those ten minutes??  
> These boys could last way longer than ten minutes


End file.
